


On Sending Her West

by penguinated



Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Difficult Decisions, Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-05
Updated: 2016-08-05
Packaged: 2018-07-29 10:00:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 724
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7680037
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/penguinated/pseuds/penguinated
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Elrond knows that his wife will never be the same after the orc attack. She must sail to Valinor. Luckily, he has his friends to counsel him about the decision. Just a one-shot I wrote 2013 that I discovered and am proud of.</p>
            </blockquote>





	On Sending Her West

Elrond gazed lovingly on his family as they posed for the painter. Elladan and Elrohir donned identical golden armor and cloaks of blue-grey. Celebrían was all in white with gold here and there to match her hair. The Lady of Imladris was still picturesque, despite the incident with the orcs. Physically, she was fully recovered, but Elrond knew better; her eyes were bereft of their former glitter and happiness, revealing the pain she still felt deep in her heart. She put on a brave face for her children, but even they could see their mother was forever changed.  
The twins were especially disturbed. They too lost their previous joy. They laughed little, and anything other than slaying orcs was tedious to them. Even while having this painting done, they were apathetic and cross. Imladris itself seemed darkened, no matter how brightly the sun shone on the valley.  
Glorfindel, Seneschal of Rivendell, and Erestor, the Chief Counselor, approached their Lord. Glorfindel placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. Elrond closed his eyes to the touch and the scene before him, wishing that when he opened them, they would all have gone back to the way it was before Celebrían was attacked.  
“Elrond,” said Erestor suddenly. “You know what you must do. You must send her to Valinor, only there can she-”  
“I know,” Elrond cut him off. “I just thought that if she spent time with our sons, she might…” he trailed off, unsure of what he meant to say.  
“Your sons are just as deeply affected as she is,” Glorfindel pointed out. “Their hearts are filled with anger and hurt. They want only to hunt orcs, and I think that hurts Celebrían even more. I’d suggest sending them along with her, but they’d never agree to that; they’ve still got their sister to protect. Regardless of what the twins do, Celebrían must sail.”  
Elrond turned his back to the scene of his family and met the gaze of his Seneschal, knowing he was right. “I suppose…but that would mean saying goodbye.”  
“My Lord,” said Erestor. “If you truly love your wife, you must make that sacrifice. She will never find peace here. In Valinor, her heart can rest. You’ve done everything you can for her.”  
“Besides, it isn’t truly goodbye,” Glorfindel added. “You will see her again, when you sail to the west later.”  
“That could be hundreds of years!” cried Elrond. “That could be an entire age!”  
“If you keep her here, it will be an age of watching her suffer!” argued Erestor.  
“But if you send her west,” Glorfindel chimed in, calmly. “It will be an age of her getting back to the Celebrían you fell in love with all those years ago. Then when you see her again, she will be good as new.”  
“I just don’t understand, why can she not get to that point here?” he whispered, half to himself.  
“What happened to her was too traumatic,” answered Erestor. “As long as she remains in Middle Earth, she will not be rid of it. There are no orcs in Valinor; only grace and beauty.”  
“My lord, essentially you have this choice: both of you suffer here, or send her along, and only you suffer here,” said Glorfindel.  
Elrond wanted desperately to dispute that; to tell them that they were both crazy; that he and Celebrían could get through this, that he could heal her. He turned eyes on her once more, and saw her melancholy state. She would never be truly happy here, he knew. Never again.  
“Alright,” he conceded. “I will send her to the West. I realize that this is what I must give to see her smile again.”  
“Shall I write to Círdan in the Grey Havens?” asked Erestor.  
“No,” replied Elrond. “I will do it myself.”  
“I don’t much like Círdan,” said Glorfindel. “He once called me ‘penneth’ and I never did forgive him. Honestly, me?! ‘Penneth’? I am a Balrog slayer and twice born! In all the millennia I have lived-”  
Erestor stopped him, glimpsing the aggravated look on Elrond’s face. “Come, penneth, let us leave Lord Elrond to his writing.”  
Glorfindel shot Erestor an annoyed look before they took their leave, and Elrond sat down at his desk to write.  
‘Círdan,’ he scrawled. ‘I have a special favor to ask of you.’


End file.
